


What's Done in the Dark (Will Always Find a Way to Shine)

by starkanium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Foster Care, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Avengers, Kid Tony Stark, M/M, Team as Family, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony-centric, if you couldn't tell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-11 20:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkanium/pseuds/starkanium
Summary: Tony's been dealing with an abusive Howard for most of his life after his mother's death, but Howard is arrested one day and it changes his life forever. Living with Phil and Clint Coulson and their family introduces Tony to what love feels like, though the journey in getting there is a difficult one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are graphic depictions of abuse in this first chapter, so please proceed with caution.
> 
> Haven't written in a really long time, but a few episodes from the TV show "This is Us" inspired me for this fic. Figured I'd give it another shot. Please let me know what you think, constructive criticism is welcome. Enjoy.

Tony’s managed to piss him off again. This time, he doesn’t remember exactly what he did, but the way Howard’s veins are bulging from his temples or the way his face turned a brilliant shade of red tells him that he is unbelievably _pissed_. Tony tries backing away from him, knowing exactly what’s coming if he doesn’t get away. But his footsteps aren’t quick enough and Howard rounds on him within seconds.

“What did I tell you this morning, boy?” Howard snarls, grasping and the front of Tony’s worn t-shirt, the fabric stretching and the elastic of the collar emitting an ominous ripping noise. 

His question makes the blood drain from Tony’s face. Right. This morning. He had been sleeping in his room when Howard burst in, door creaking on its hinges. The vehemence in which he entered the room made sirens go off in Tony’s head, his eyes snapping open quickly, all vestiges of sleep vanishing and giving way to pure, heavy fear that curled uncomfortably in his chest. He already stank of alcohol. Its nauseating stench permeated through the room and into Tony’s nose, making it crinkle in disgust. It made the sirens in his head blare even louder, though. Alcohol never, _ever_ meant well for him.

“Tony, listen to me right now.” His voice was no nonsense, but the slur to his words almost offset its meaning. “I am working in the lab today. Under no circumstance do I want to be interrupted.” 

“Yessir,” Tony answered. No problem, he wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway. Or see him. Or hear him. So, Tony agreed readily, hoping to rid his room of Howard for the next day, if he was lucky. 

“Good. Now get your ass out of bed, you lazy piece of shit,” He muttered as he turned and walked from the room, footsteps unsteady. He slammed the door shut behind him and the force of it rattled the entire room. Tony glanced at the clock to see 8:12 blinking back at him in large red letters. He groaned and rolled over, willing himself to go back to sleep, but his heart was beating too quickly and his mind was racing too fast. Finally, at around 9 o’clock, Tony dragged himself from bed. He had work he had to complete for Howard, too. 

Tony thinks back to that morning, the interaction rushing back to him. He doesn’t know how he forgot about it, but seeing Obie towering over him at the front door, demanding that he go get his father, to stop everything he’s doing, to run, to… 

Obie’s never laid a hand on Tony, but he’s big and he’s loud and he’s best friends with fucking _Howard_ , so he’s not too keen on him either. So when Obie comes in, a jumbled hurricane of words and gestures and excitement, it’s like every sane thought in Tony’s head leak out of his ears and drop to the floor, shattering into pieces there. He jogs down to the basement, where Howard’s lab is. He knocks on the door, but receives no answer. So, with a shaking hand, he reaches for the knob and turns it, entering the room. 

“Howard,” he calls, just trying to fulfill Obie’s demands of getting Howard upstairs right away. “Obie’s here. Looking for you.”

And that’s how he ended up in this situation. Howard’s face pressed up close to his, putrid breath ghosting over his face. Crazed eyes glare at him. 

“What. Did. I. Tell. You?” he repeats. 

“T-to not come in here,” he stutters, knowing what’s coming.

“Then why, pray tell me, are you in here?” His voice drips with venom.

“I- Um,” he falters. He forgets what he’s doing here for a couple seconds. What is he doing here? He should know that disturbing Howard is an awful idea, but his mind is blank. Fear wraps itself tight around him, paralyzing his thoughts and his body. What the hell is he doing here? He remembers just as the first fist makes contact with his stomach. He crumples protectively over his middle, gasping and wheezing.

“Obie- Obie’s here,” he coughs from his knees as tears leak from the corners of his eyes.

Howard grabs a fistful of hair from Tony’s scalp and yanks on it, making it so they’re looking each other in the eye. 

“Pathetic,” Howard spits when he notices the tears trailing down Tony’s flushed cheeks. He kicks Tony in the chest with his heel, knocking the boy on his back, his head connecting with the floor and making stars burst in front of his eyes.

“I said ‘under no circumstances am I to be interrupted.’ Did I not?” He says, but Tony can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. “Didn’t I say that, boy?” He repeats when he realizes he’s not getting an answer from Tony, accompanying his words with a kick to his ribs. Tony hears the crunch before the excruciating pain begins, but it only takes a second for his side to catch up with his ears. He screams. It’s a hoarse, awful sound.

“Yessir,” he pants when he gets his voice back. Breathing sends fire running up and down his side. 

“Then what the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing here?” He stomps his foot over Tony’s ankle, effectively breaking it. Tony howls from his supine position, black encroaching on his eyesight. He’s starting to feel really, really tired.

“Obie,” he whispers, the words barely making it past his slack lips. The last thing he remembers is Howard’s fists pummeling into his chest, his fancy rings slicing through his tattered shirt and deep into his flesh.

 

When Tony wakes, it’s to bright lights and a cold, unforgiving floor beneath him. His entire body throbs in time with his heartbeat, which is alarmingly fast and irregular. His breath comes out in pants, but he feels like he’s not getting any oxygen into his lungs. Not to mention the fire that ignites throughout his body on every inhale and exhale. Eventually, after what feels like hours, he manages to calm himself enough to take in his surroundings. He’s still in the lab, lying where Howard must have left him after the beating. His chest is bleeding still and he’s lying in a small, warm pool of it. Howard’s nowhere to be seen and Tony feels the slightest bit of relief. He’s still having trouble breathing and his heart feels fluttery and weak and he’s in so much _pain_ , it’s almost unbearable. Howard not being there means he can’t get beaten any more, but it also means there’s no one to get him to a hospital. Jarvis is off today because it’s Sunday and he won’t be back until tomorrow morning. He’s sure he needs the hospital, though, no matter how many times he’s refused to go in the past after Howard’s beatings. He’s never felt this awful, this weak. This close to death. 

“Help,” he cries weakly. Just the simple act of calling out makes his vision go gray and distorted. He shifts a little to try to get more comfortable, but it jars his broken ankle and likely broken ribs and chest and every other bone in his body and he passes out again. 

When he wakes up again, he’s surprised. He didn’t think he’d last very long in the condition he’s in. Jarvis is hovering above him, his concern evident in every feature of his face.

“Oh, Anthony, thank God,” he says, relief washing over him. “The ambulance is on its way. Please hold on.”

Jarvis’s voice calms Tony more than anything else in the world. He knows that Jarvis will handle everything and he can just relax. He feels better already. 

“Love you, J,” he whispers. He still can’t really breathe, and whispering is the best he can do. Christ, he feels so unbelievably weak.

“I love you too, Anthony. Please, stay with me.”

Tony’s eyes roll into the back of his head, though, as he blacks out again.

 

When Tony awakes again, he’s in the hospital. He can smell the antiseptic and he can feel the mattress beneath him. Much better than the cold tile of Howard’s lab. He feels floaty and disconnected from his body. Drugs, then. 

“Jarv,” he says hoarsely without opening his eyes. He smacks his lips together slightly, trying to rid his mouth of its dryness. He notices he has an oxygen mask over his face and that might be contributing to the dryness he’s feeling.

“Sorry, Tony. I’m not Jarvis,” an unfamiliar voice says. He cracks an eye open to look at the intruder. It’s a woman with fair blonde hair, dressed in a nurse’s uniform. “You’re in the ICU. Jarvis would’ve been here if he could, but we don’t allow visitors here.”

Tony nods, eyes drooping drearily.

“What happened?” he murmurs, forcing himself to stay awake. He doesn’t remember how he ended up here, and his head hurts too much when he tried to think about it. 

“You were hurt pretty badly, hon,” she tells him. That’s all she says, but Tony’s already losing his battle to sleep.

He wakes up another four times within the next three days, but he doesn’t remember them. They all go similarly; Tony asking for Jarvis then, upon realizing he’s not there and only a nurse is, asking what happened. The fifth time he awakes is the time he actually remembers.

“What happened?” he asks the nurse keeping an eye on him after she explains that Jarvis can’t be here, but she assures him that he’s still anxiously pacing in the waiting room. That he’s barely left the hospital within the last few days since Tony was brought in. 

“You were beaten, badly,” she informs him. “I’ll have the doctor come and tell you more now that you seem somewhat coherent.”

The nurse leaves, the curtain separating him from the other patients swaying in the wake of her exit. He tries to take stock of his injuries but his head feels too heavy to lift to see and his body is mostly numb. He could be missing both legs and not know it.

Only about a minute after the nurse left, the doctor enters.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Dr. Tierney and I’m in charge of your care,” she introduces. “I want to tell you about your condition, but if any of it becomes too much, you let me know.”

Tony nods and gives her a weak smile, the best he can conjure up. He’s too tired to even bother opening his mouth. Dr. Tierney clears her throat and holds his gaze for a few seconds, lips pursed. She’s obviously trying to figure out how to present all of the information to him.

“Your ankle was broken severely,” she starts. “We had to surgically place two pins in it to stabilize it. The cast will likely remain on your leg for a long time, but we can discuss that more in depth later.”

Tony wilts at this. He’s glad it’s his leg instead of arm or hand; he wouldn’t be able to work without those. But, it still sucks.

“Now, the next part is a little more complicated. Due to all the trauma your chest endured, you have some myocardial contusions. This essentially just means that there is some bruising on your heart. I know that sounds really bad, but it’s not life-threatening and you’ll most likely make a full recovery,” she assures him. “But it does mean that you’ll feel weak for a while, and we had to put a tube in your side to drain the fluid. And some of your ribs are cracked, so it’s likely painful. We are going to try our best to have a good pain management plan for you.”

Dr. Tierney continues to speak, but Tony’s long since stopped paying attention. Myocardial contusion. Chest tube? It’s all a lot to take in, and the doc was right, he is weak and exhausted. He doesn’t want to hear about the awful condition he’s in any longer.

“And what about Howard?” he asks breathily, cutting Dr. Tierney off from whatever she was saying. His words are lost in the oxygen mask, however. She approaches him and gently lifts the mask, asking him to repeat himself.

“Howard?”

The doc’s face clouds over. “He’s being taken care of,” she tells him. “In the meantime, you are going to be placed with a foster family. Melinda, the social worker assigned to your case, will come by later to fill you in on more of the details. For now, though, you just rest. You’ll be here a while longer.”

Tony listens to her, letting his eyes finally shut, exhaustion taking over him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... Whaddup, y'all. Sorry that I haven't updated this in, like, a year. I deadass forgot ab this fic and it wasn't until someone recently commented and asked if I was gonna continue it that I was like... wait, wtf is this fic again? So i reread it and kind of remembered where I was gonna go with it before, so I figured I'd give it another shot. Also, someone said something about Melinda May being Tony's social worker, and I just wanted to address that I have never watched SHIELD and I'm never gonna, so I don't know anything about that character. I totally did that unintentionally bc I was watching Ghost Whisperer a lot at the time when I wrote this I believe. However, I suppose I'll keep the character as Melinda May even though I know nothing of her character. So, yeah. My bad. Anyway, hope you enjoy! lmao

Tony learns, the next time that he awakes, that Howard did not get locked away for child abuse. He was under the impression that they finally caught him, this time, in the act. His social worker, Melinda, had told him the whole story. The government had been building up a case against Howard for some white-collar crime for years now, and they just finally managed to get enough evidence to indict him. While Tony was lying, as close to death as he’s ever been, in the deep recesses of the mansion, Howard had been arrested. 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Melinda had said to him. “I know it’s difficult to know your father is in trouble, especially during such a trying time for you.”

After Tony discovered that they still didn’t know his father was the real culprit, he came up with a cover story. Again. Just like all the previous times he had to go to the hospital for an injury or ten. He tripped down the stairs, accidentally shut his hand in a drawer, lab accidents. This time he said some jerks came in looking to rob the mansion and lab, but found him down there and wanted to keep him quiet. And that DUM-E managed to run them out before they were able to take anything too important. The police tell him that they’re going to look into it, and find the people who did this to him. He knows there will be no evidence for them to trail after, though, and that it’s certainly a lost cause. He says that he was too out of it at the time to remember any identifying characteristics of the men, but he still vividly remembers Howard’s rage-filled features as his fists bore down on him. 

At this point, he knows that what Howard does is wrong. That a father shouldn’t hurt his child. But, for some reason that Tony’s never wanted to think about too much, he still loves his father. He’s the only surviving family he has, after his mom’s death. Plus, there are some good times, however few and far between. And anyway, if Tony just behaved himself and did what he was supposed to and didn’t make Howard angry so often, he wouldn’t have to go through the beatings. He brings it onto himself, and there’s no reason to get Howard into deeper trouble than he’s already in, just because Tony’s being a little pussy about it. 

“Tony, are you listening?” he hears Melinda’s voice say, though it sounds like it’s muffled behind a wall of clouds. Tony shakes his head slightly, hoping to clear his thoughts to better focus on what his social worker is saying.

“I’m sorry,” he says instinctively. “What were you saying?”

She purses her lips at him and it makes him wilt slightly. He really excels at disappointing people.

“I was saying that your foster parents would like to come to visit you later today, if that’s okay with you,” she says evenly, seemingly not too annoyed by him.

Tony nods his head, swallowing hard at his suddenly dry mouth. If his foster parents want to come meet him, that’s fine. He’s not going to be a nuisance and deny them their wants, especially for agreeing to take in a brat like him. He knows, at the very least, that it won’t be for too long. Howard always manages to slip out of his responsibilities and he never has to live up to any of his mistakes, so Tony knows he won’t be in jail for much longer. Soon, Tony will be able to return home.

“Great!” Melinda smiles warmly at him, so he smiles back. He thinks it might waver on his face, but she doesn’t comment on it. “They’ll probably come by around lunch time so they can eat with you and keep you some company. I’ll be back around then, too, to make sure you’re all settled in.”

She leaves after that, and Tony slumps back in his bed. He’s been in the hospital for about a week now, and his chest tube had come out earlier that morning. He’s feeling a little better in some aspects, in that he isn’t quite as weak, but he’s in more pain. They’ve been trying to gently wean him off the morphine because addiction is a concern, but his injuries are extensive and painful, so it would be cruel to take him off entirely. However, the lower dosage has been weighing on him. His pain’s been ramped up and it’s becoming harder to sleep to just keep it at bay for a little while longer, but the doctors have ensured him that it just means his heart’s getting better and that he should just keep trying to take it easy. 

It also hasn’t helped that Jarvis hasn’t been able to stick around much, too busy helping the police and lawyers with Howard’s trial and keeping the mansion together in Howard’s absence. He has more important duties to take care of, certainly. So Tony tries desperately not to be disappointed or clingy by asking Jarvis to stay just a few minutes longer. But, he is getting bored and lonely. Melinda can only stay for so long as well.

That’s why Tony’s having mixed feelings about his foster parents coming. He doesn’t know these people, though they probably know at least some things about him. How he got his ass handed to him on a silver platter and how he’s likely a handful, coming from a rich and famous household, after all. He’s nervous that they’ll see right through him and see how he’s not worth the trouble, like Howard has always seen right off the bat, but he’s also itching for the company. For a friendly face.

He must drift off for a while, a welcome reprieve to his constant pain, because the next thing he knows, Melinda is knocking gently on the door frame and entering his room. 

“Hey. Phil and Clint are in the lobby, waiting to meet you. I just wanted to make sure you were still up to it,” she tells him. 

“Sure,” he says hoarsely, his voice grating on his nerves. He reaches for the cup of water on the bedside table, biting back a groan at the stretch of his aching ribs as he extends his arm, and takes a few sips to clear his throat. “You can send them in.”

“Okay. I’m just going to introduce you and I’ll stay in here for a few minutes to make sure everything’s okay. I’ll be back.”

As he watches Melinda disappear through the doorway, he takes a deep breath to steel himself. He can feel his hands trembling faintly. He’s so incredibly nervous. He’s not ignorant; he knows what oftentimes goes on in the foster system and he knows it’s not pretty. That’s simply another reason he never wanted to snitch on Howard. He might get the occasional beatings, but at least he still has his tech and a roof over his head. It could just as easily be that he got beatings in some foster family’s house with leaky ceilings and dirt for pillows. He knows it could be worse. Thinking about what could be does not seem to calm his nerves. Not one bit.

While he’s busy working himself up into a fit, Melinda reenters the room, with two men in tow. The first is wearing a bland suit to match his facial expression, but he has soft eyes that tell Tony that he’s probably not as bad as he looks. Then, there’s a blond man beside him who’s absolutely _beaming_ at Tony. Something about the men instantly makes his tightly-wound muscles relax just the slightest bit. They look… well, they look harmless. Nothing like the sharp lines and furrowed brow that Howard always carried. Nothing like the hatred that always gleamed in his eyes. But maybe it’s just a matter of time before Tony puts that look in their eyes, as well.

“Tony, this is Phil,” Melinda introduces, gesturing to the first man. “And this is his partner, Clint.”

Tony’s lying almost flat on his back on the bed when the group enters, and he suddenly realizes that it’s an astoundingly vulnerable position to be in. He quickly braces his hands on either side of his body and pushes himself up with a pained grunt. His ribs are jostled at the change of position and his weak arms shake with the effort of pushing himself up. He swears he can feel fresh blood seeping through the stitches of the wounds on his chest, but he thinks he may just be imagining it. He’s sweating by the time he meets their eyes again, but at least he’s in an upright position this time.

“Hello,” he greets them, trying to smile through the pain that he’s just inflicted on himself.

“Tony,” the first man, Phil, says. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, man,” the other, Clint, pipes in. “We’ve heard all sorts of awesome things about you. We’ve been begging Melinda here to let us come meet you for a while now, but she said you needed some time to heal before having new visitors. Now, I’m thinking she may have had a point.”

Tony sags a little at the man’s words. Maybe that’s another reason why Jarvis hasn’t come by more. Tony’s just some weak baby that cannot keep good company. It makes sense. He’s fallen asleep during Jarvis’s visits more times than he can count and it’s not like he’s been very good at maintaining interesting conversation with the meds fogging half of his mind and the pain dealing with the other.

“Hey, he didn’t mean anything by that. He just puts his foot in his mouth sometimes. You’ll have to get used to it,” Phils tells him, softly. It’s a change from the anger that Howard’s voice always harbors. Clint, however, squawks at his words and draws in a sharp breath, acting like he’s offended.

“I’m sorry,” Tony mutters, keeping his eyes trained on his hands that are now folded in his lap. He can’t look at them in fear of them noticing the tears that have started to grow behind his eyes. 

“No need to apologize, Tony,” Clint says. “He’s not kidding, you know. I do stick my foot in my mouth pretty often and you’ll have to call me on it. I never mean to step on any toes or hurt any feelings.” Clint had stepped closer to Tony’s bed during his little spiel, dragging Phil by his hand in the midst. He vaguely notices Melinda still standing in the doorway, ready to intervene if anything really starts to go south.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Tony says, maybe a bit petulantly. He’s certainly not going to admit it, even if he kind of did. Stark men are made of iron, after all. 

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted to,” Clint smiles at him. “It really is great to finally meet you.”

At this, Tony finally looks up at the two men, their faces warm and welcoming and standing just far enough from his bed that he doesn’t feel threatened about their presences towering above him. It’s enough to make him smile, their consideration. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he replies with that tiny, genuine smile on his face. It’s a start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Don't expect chapters to come out this quickly in the future. I was just on a roll recently and decided I might as well post this chapter while I have it. Just as a heads up, Tony has a nightmare that's kinda violent (not like vividly, but you still know what's going on) toward the end of the chapter. It's in italics so if you want to skim over that part, feel free.

It’s only a few days later that Clint and Phil bring Tony home. Melinda had gone by the mansion the day before to pick up some of his clothes and books to bring to his temporary home, so at least he didn’t have to go back there himself. He’s thankful for that; he doesn’t quite know if he’d be ready to step foot in the place where his freshest nightmares were born so soon, and he doesn’t know if he could face Jarvis now, either. He’s only been by once after Tony met his foster parents and Tony’s starting to think that his avoidance is deliberate rather than just being busy at this point. He just wishes he knew what he’s done to push Jarvis away so that he can apologize and get his best friend back.

As it is, Tony’s currently sitting in the back of the car, his leg propped up on a pillow on the seat and his back pressed up against the door. It’s very uncomfortable for his ribs and the cuts that mar his chest, and each bump and pothole makes his vision gray for a moment, but he’s dealing with it. He tries to ignore the worried looks Phil keeps shooting him in the rearview mirror and make as little noise as possible.

It was tense, leaving the hospital. Tony was snappish, a culmination of pain and frustration at not being able to walk on his own, instead having to sit in a wheelchair and be led outside like an invalid. And Jarvis hadn’t come to say goodbye. He knows this is not the way he should be treating his temporary family, especially not right off the bat when they could decide to just send him back or throw him to the wolves. He just could not, for the life of him, hide his foul mood behind his normally impenetrable mask. On the bright side, Tony had finally been released from the hospital and breathed in fresh, crisp air for the first time in what felt like years. 

“Hey, Clint,” Tony inquires, trying to lighten the mood that he’d so easily made heavy. “Can you turn up the music?”

They’d been playing Dean Martin since they pulled from the lot, though Tony didn’t really pick up on the fact until they were well on their way. He remembers his mother listening to this particular artist when he was a kid and it soothes his frayed nerves, if only a little.

Clint does so, a small smile lighting up his face.

“You a Dean Martin fan?” Clint asks, like he’s actually trying to lighten the mood as well. It’s nice that Clint’s playing along and not holding a grudge at Tony’s insolence toward the men as they were leaving the hospital.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replies, maybe a little wistfully. He fails to mention his mother, but he can feel Phil’s eyes boring into the side of his head through the rearview mirror again. He doesn’t say a word, though.

Tony watches as the bustling city of New York fades to the suburbs and then to rural land. In what feels like an eternity and no time at all, the car pulls gently into the driveway of a nice home, fit for a large family. Tony sucks in a deep breath and holds it there, paying no mind to the burning in his chest. He knows that there are other kids in that house. Other kids, who, if they are like everyone that Tony attends school with now, will hate him. He may have gotten Clint and Phil to like him (hopefully. After this afternoon, he’s not so sure), but the same definitely does not have to be said for the kids. If he remembers correctly, there are four other kids, all similar in age to him, give or take a year or two. 

“Tony? Are you ready to go inside?” Phil asks as he opens the back door of the car opposite of Tony. He must catch onto Tony’s hesitance, so he slides into the back seat beside him while Clint busies himself unfolding the wheelchair from the trunk and gathering his bags.

“It’s okay to be apprehensive,” Phil tells him, disturbingly sincere. “I know it can be intimidating to join a household full of strangers, but I think once you meet the others, you’ll feel better. They’ve all been through a lot, but I think you’ll find that they’re all just big softies at heart.”

This makes Tony smile a little. At least Phil understands where Tony’s coming from, and the encouragement is a nice change. He’s used to being told he’s being too much of a pussy and to suck it up and get on with it. He never really thought about what normal, loving parents would say to their kids in trying situations like this. 

“Okay, yeah. I’m ready to go in,” he says.

Phil smiles that bland smile of his and clambers out of the car, joining Clint by the trunk. Clint wheels the chair around to the door Tony’s been leaning against and knocks on the window to let Tony know he’s about to open the door. When it’s open and Tony gets a good look of the chair, he grimaces. 

“Do you think we could just forego the chair for now?” He doesn’t admit that it makes him feel like a target, and like the other kids will look at him weirdly. “I just… I think I would feel better going in on my own.”

Phil and Clint exchange a look, but they ultimately seem to come to the same conclusion. They’re good at that, having silent conversations and agreeing upon something. Tony’s known these guys for all of a few days, and he’s already seen it occur a handful of times. He’s impressed, really.

“We don’t like it,” Clint tells him, “but we’ll allow it, just this once.”

Tony knows they’re letting him do it for some obscure, good parenting reason, but he doesn’t dwell on it for too long. He’s sure he wouldn’t figure it out on his own anyway.

Phil goes to grab his pair of crutches from the trunk, which were supposed to be saved for a week or so from now, when his ribs were healed sufficiently and the stitches in his chest removed. Not to mention, getting some of his strength back from his weak heart. However, they’re a welcoming sight at the moment. He holds them as Clint helps Tony unfold from the car and stand, his injured leg held carefully from the pavement. The simple movement of standing makes Tony exhausted and he second-guesses his decision. Too late to turn back now, though, his stubborn mind tells him. Phil hands him the crutches and assumes his position behind Tony, hands held out precariously as if Tony will fall on his ass. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise, he supposes. 

It’s slow going, and Tony’s panting like he's just run a marathon when they reach the front door, but it feels good to be moving on his own steam. Clint steps in front of him to push open the front door and to hold the screen door open behind him, granting Tony access to the house. Phil follows behind. When Tony sees the sight that greets him, he lets out a startled laugh.

The kids are all standing in a line in the living room, seemingly from smallest to largest. It’s a peculiar sight and Tony can’t help but blurt out, “What is this, _The Sound of Music?_ ” He realizes that’s not the right thing to say as he watches the previously smiling faces of the kids turn into something much less welcoming. He’s always had an astounding ability to make others hate him, right off the bat. 

“Better to look like cute Austrian kids than you,” the only girl says scathingly. Her words aren’t particularly hurtful, as Tony knows exactly how horrible he looks at this moment, but the way she says them drips pure vitriol. He flinches back, avoiding their eyes and biting his lip. God damn it, he’s fucked this up already.

“Natasha,” Phil snaps at the girl, his tone warning.

“Sorry, Papa,” she mutters, not sounding apologetic at all.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” he tells her, and she turns to Tony and apologizes again, sounding no more sincere the second time around.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have said that either…” he trails off. He takes a glance back up at the kids, but they don’t seem very much more inclined to greet him.

Clint clears his throat, obviously trying to break some of the tension. “So, uh, this is Natasha, James, Steve, and Thor,” he introduces from smallest to largest child. If Tony didn’t already feel so out of place, he might’ve laughed again at that. “And, kids, this is Tony.”

“Tony! It is great to finally meet you,” the largest one, Thor, says. He seems to have shaken off Tony’s initial comment. “We have heard much from our fathers about you over the past few days. Alas, I suppose we may have overdone it on the entrance, and it was an honest joke.”

“Yeah, that’s Thor. He’s from Norway and he’s going to college there, these days. He’s just here for winter break, but his accent’s gotten worse, if possible, since he went back. It’s good to meet you,” The other blond, Steve, says.

“Likewise,” Tony says, a hint of a smile gracing his face again. Maybe he didn’t fuck this up royally just yet.

“I’m James,” the final boy says as he flicks his long hair out of his eyes, “but you can call me Bucky. No one calls me James but the old men here.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at his parents as they start putting down all of Tony’s belongings. Phil shoots him a fake warning look and Clint just huffs out a laugh at him, shaking his head at Bucky’s words.

Tony laughs a little then, which reminds him of how much pain he’s currently in. The blood has all worked its way down to this ankle, which is throbbing in time with his heart. His ribs aren’t happy much with the crutches tucked beneath his arms and his single functioning leg is trembling with the effort of holding up his body weight. He tries to keep the grimace off his face, but he can’t do much about the sweat dribbling down the back of his neck.

“It’s great to meet you all, too. And, um, thanks for letting me intrude on your home. I’m sure it’s not easy to do that,” he addresses them all, trying to keep the tightness from his voice. Natasha scoffs quietly at this, and this time both Clint and Phil shoot her a look. She looks entirely unbothered. She’s a handful, that one, Tony’s sure of it.

“Hey, Tones, why don’t you sit down?” Clint suggests as he begins to herd the kids from the living room. “Kids, you should all go do your homework so we can all have dinner together later.”

Tony notices that Thor doesn’t put up any argument, although he likely doesn’t have homework to do if he’s home for the holidays. He supposes that the other kids are definitely still in high school and therefore might have another week left of school before Christmas comes. Nonetheless, he’s thankful that they’re all ready to leave him alone to let him gather himself in private for a few moments.

He sinks down on the nearest couch, not able to bite back his groan this time. Son of a bitch, does he hurt. The next thing he knows, two pain pills and a bottle of water are being thrust at him and the crutches are dragged away to be put in some corner for a while longer.

“Take these,” Phil prompts. “It’s passed the time for your dose. I’m sorry that we didn’t think about it sooner. We will stay on top of that in the future.” Phil’s still holding out the proffered gifts in outstretched hands. Tony flushes in embarrassment. 

“Can you please just… just put them on the arm of the couch,” Tony pleads, his eyes begging Phil not to ask. He has the decency to not even falter in placing the bottle and pills beside Tony. Doesn’t even shoot him a weird look. Tony’s incredibly thankful; he wouldn’t have wanted to come up with some excuse on the fly. He certainly would not tell him how Howard’s fucked him over in the lab so many times that he refuses to take anything from anyone, no matter how harmless he knows it is. Boy, is he fucked in the head.

Clint comes back in the room then, two cookies in tow, that he almost tries to hand Tony. But then, after seeing the pills on the couch and shooting Phil an inquiring look, he places them down instead. “It’s best to not take them on an empty stomach, but I don’t want to spoil dinner for you, either,” he explains. Tony thanks him and eats the cookies, downing the pills and water afterward. 

“Now, why don’t you rest,” Phil suggests. “We’re going to make dinner and we’ll wake you when it’s ready. Then, we can show you your room afterward. It’s just going to be tough to get you up the stairs, so it’s probably best if you stay on the couch for now.”

Tony nods his assent and gets comfortable on the couch. He drifts off in a matter of moments, the day’s events taking a toll on his battered body.

It can’t be long before the nightmares kick in. 

_Howard is a towering figure above him and Tony comes up to only his waist. Howard’s laughing at him and his beady red eyes are gleaming with mirth. Tony doesn’t understand what’s so funny at first, but then he looks down at himself and sees that there’s a burning hot soldering iron sitting in his hands. It’s burning him, but it’s seemingly stuck to his hands. A whine works up his throat, but he refuses to let it out because he knows Howard will only find it more amusing. He can’t help the tears that prick at his eyes, though._

_“You’re pathetic, boy,” Howard snarls at him. “Can’t even hold a fucking soldering iron.”_

_Then, Howard starts in on him. His huge size makes it so that Tony can’t fight back in the least, although he knows he wouldn’t retaliate anyway, knowing it would just make the beating worse overall. He’s begging, pleading for Howard to stop when-_

He wakes up with a bit-off scream. He’s shot up from his position on the couch and he curls protectively over his aching ribs then, his chest heaving. His heart is fluttering and weak in his chest, beating way too fast for his liking. His limbs feel frail and numb. Tears stream down his face, though he wipes them from his cheeks quickly when he hears footsteps approaching from the kitchen.

“Tony? Did you-” Clint calls as he walks into the living room. “Oh… sweetheart,” he murmurs when he sees the position Tony’s in. It’s not hard to figure out what was going on in here, Tony supposes.

Clint sits beside Tony on the couch and Tony’s quick to scramble away. He’s already grown to trust Phil and Clint, really, but his mind is all jumbled with a mixture of Howard and pain and he just doesn’t know how to feel right now. That’s his instinct, is to get as far away as possible.

“Please. Please,” he begs, but he doesn't know what he’s asking. Doesn’t know if he wants Clint to come closer or to leave him alone. Tears continue to fall from his traitorous eyes and he finds that he can’t stop them. He’s still heaving, but air doesn’t actually seem to be entering his lungs, which serves to freak him out even further.

“Tony, please, breathe with me. In, one, two, three…” This goes on for a while. Tony vaguely registers Phil coming in at some point and sitting on the loveseat on the other side of the room, doing nothing other than offering some silent support. He doesn’t notice the exact moment when Clint takes his hand and places it over his strong, steady heartbeat, but when he realizes it, it serves to calm him considerably. When he finally comes back to himself, both Clint and Phil are looking at him with sympathy. He takes a deep, shaking breath and avoids their eyes. His heart rate has slowed considerably, but he’s still feeling incredibly shaky and out of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You can go back to cooking. It won’t happen again.”

Clint shushes him, not unkindly. “May I hold you?” he asks.

Tony glances at him, trying to gauge his expression. He doesn’t look like he’d be angry if Tony refused, but he’s not so sure that he does want to refuse. He nods his head warily. Clint approaches slowly and wraps Tony up in strong arms, holding him steady.

He can practically feel Clint conversing with Phil through looks over his head, but he’s too exhausted to try to decipher what’s going on. Soon, Phil stands up and walks back to the kitchen, almost too silently for Tony to hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I seem totally incompetent at putting everyone's ages into the actual fic, so I'm just gonna tell you here and try to work in their ages later. I'm pathetic!  
> Nat: 15  
> Steve, Bucky, Tony: 16  
> Thor: 18  
> I know Tony was supposed to have graduated college in a year, but I'm just gonna disregard that. Howard's a bitch and won't let him skip grades or sumn. Please let me know what y'all think!

He must drift off again, in Clint’s arms this time. He wakes up to Phil calling up the stairs to his kids that dinner’s ready. Tony hears the thumping of eight feet racing to get downstairs, so Tony scrambles from the hold that Clint has on him. He’s unsure of how the others would react if they knew Tony was wrapped in their father’s arms, too much of a pussy to handle some stupid nightmares on his own. He knows jealousy would consume him if he ever saw his father showing open affection to other children who were not his own, and he doesn’t want to do that to these kids. 

Clint seems reluctant to let him go, but offers no resistance nonetheless. As the kids barrel down the stairs, Tony attempts to gain his composure and act like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. The look on Clint’s face tells him that it was okay, that maybe the kids wouldn’t care, but Tony’s not willing to take that risk. 

As the kids pass through the living room on their journey to the kitchen, Steve and Bucky give him easy smiles while Natasha ignores him altogether. 

As Thor passes, he exclaims, “Tony, come join us for our nightly feast! Papa makes the best meatballs in all the realms!”

This makes Tony smile a little, the tight ball coiled in his chest unfurling just the slightest bit. Maybe it won’t be so bad with Thor acting as a buffer between Tony’s stupid mouth and the others.

“You hungry?” Clint asks from his position beside him. God, is he hungry. He’s been living off hospital food for the past two weeks and the pasta smells delicious. Tony gives him an eager nod and goes to stand, a gentle hand on his shoulder stopping him.

“Just let me help you for now,” Clint tells him. He grabs Tony’s arm and wraps it over his broad shoulders before grabbing Tony by the waist and tenderly pulling him up. Tony’s head swims for a moment, but Clint just stands with him until the sensation passes. Then, they make their awkward way to the kitchen, looking like they’re doing a demented version of a three-legged race. It’s weird, having an adult other than Jarvis be considerate of how he feels and helping him.

Clint settles Tony down at the head of the six-person table, everyone’s eyes plastered to him. He knows that he must be a sight to behold; his black eye is almost gone, but the yellowing of the bruise just might be uglier than it had been when it was fresh. Plus, their father just carried him in like a limp mouse that the cat just brought in from the garden. Not a pretty sight, indeed.

“So, um,” Tony starts, a meager attempt to get them talking and their eyes off of him. “What do you guys do for fun in a place like this? We’re definitely not in the city anymore.”

Bucky snorts at that, nodding along with Tony. “Yeah, it took Stevie and me some getting used to, too. We were born in Brooklyn, you know, and comin’ out here just about bored us to death.”

“Hey,” Clint interjects, “I’m offended!” 

“Oh, come on dad. You have to admit there’s not nearly as much to do out here,” Steve defends.

“Aye, but I enjoy milking the cows and tending to the chickens early every morning!” Thor exclaims. Tony’s jaw just about drops to the floor. Is he going to have to work like a farm boy now that he’s here? That just won’t fly with him, not for a second.

“Oh my God, the look on your face,” Natasha laughs, the sound of her giggle high and resoundingly girly. Tony feels his eyes get impossibly wider. How is this his life?

“They’re just messing with you, Tony,” Phil finally says, pulling Tony out of his stupor. “We had a goldfish once upon a time, but that’s the extent of the animals we keep around. _Someone_ thought it would be a good idea to release Georgie into the pond down the street,” he says, staring pointedly at Steve, “and we knew we couldn’t have any more pets around here after that.”

Steve looks abashed for a moment, before mumbling, “His life must’ve sucked in that tiny fishbowl.”

“Yeah,” Bucky pipes in, “and now he’s as big as a trout!” He holds up his hands to emphasize how big the fish had gotten in that pond, and that’s when Tony sees it. That metal prosthesis. 

Tony’s always been fascinated with advanced technology. It’s no secret. He is, after all, the son of one of the biggest weapons manufacturers in the world. He’d built a circuit board at the age of four, and an engine at seven. However, building weapons has never been something that he strived to do. He’s always been more interested in phones and computers and other things that would actually improve a person’s quality of life. Like prosthetics. He’d never brought the idea up to his father, though, because he knew what the outcome of that conversation would be. 

“Wow,” Tony lets slip out, fascinated. He’s openly ogling at Bucky’s prosthesis, which he vaguely registers as rude, but he’s too captivated to care. The metal plating seems seamless and sleek. His fingers seem to be able to move without any pulley system or effort, really. “Can I get a closer look at that?” he wonders, scooting to the edge of his chair so he can get closer. “I bet that’s some clinical trial model, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything like it before. Does it have tactile sensors? Can you feel heat and cold?” He reaches out, enthralled, dying to get a better look. 

Bucky yanks his arm back and haunches over, seemingly to hide his upper body behind the wooden table. His expression is guarded and brooding. Everyone around the table seems to hold their breath, tense and uncomfortable.

“Hey, would you back off, rich boy?” Natasha pipes up when it’s clear no one else is going to. “We get that you are an entitled ass and have no idea what boundaries are, but that does not mean-”

“That is enough,” Phil snaps, no-nonsense. Both Tony and Natasha flinch, though Tony’s is more of a full body thing while Natasha seems more surprised than anything.

“May I be excused,” Bucky says, and it’s not a question. Not really. Clint nods his assent and Bucky gets up and walks away, his chair screeching loudly in the silent room. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers, choked up a little. He’s not going to cry in front of these people, though. Of course not. He’s held it together in situations much, much worse than this. He is not going to fall apart. 

Both Steve and Natasha stand up and storm from the room, probably to chase after Bucky and make sure he’s okay. Thor follows, but not as angrily and not before shooting Tony a sympathetic look. It makes Tony choke up even more, that small act of kindness, but he aggressively holds the tears back. Fuck!

“Just take a deep breath, Tones,” Clint tells him. He hadn’t noticed that his breath was coming in short, fast pants. He tries to comply with Clint’s words, but the air stutters in his lungs.

“Come on. You can do it,” Phil encourages from the other side. 

It takes a few minutes, but Tony eventually calms down. He’s really been a huge nuisance to this whole family since the moment he stepped in the door. Everything that comes out of his mouth seems to be the wrong thing to say and now it looks like every single member of this family hates his guts. He knew it was bound to happen from the beginning, but he didn’t think he’d fuck it up so spectacularly, so quickly. He can’t even keep himself from freaking out, even though it’s all been his fault from the beginning. 

“Are you okay?” Phil asks him. Nothing but concern shines in his eyes, and it makes Tony laugh bitterly.

“Why are you asking me?” he spits. “I just managed to set your kids off. Shouldn’t you be talking to them?”

Clint and Phil shoot each other an indecipherable look across the table. 

“No, they’ll be okay,” Clint tells him, his attention turning back to Tony. “They have each other. It looks like you don’t have anyone…” 

Tony flinches back again. God damn it! He grits his teeth, bears them at the men. They can really see right through him, no problem. He’s always thought that Jarvis would have his back, no matter what, after his mother’s death. But, it seems like he doesn’t even have that anymore. He’s just as alone as he’s ever been. It’s humiliating, not having a single person who cares about him. And Clint’s just pointed it out, right here at the dinner table, days after meeting Tony. Targeting what Tony’s felt has always been one of his biggest weaknesses, without even having to get to know him first. 

“Whatever,” he hisses. He stands abruptly, not really thinking about what he’s going to do once he’s upright, just knowing that he wants to get the fuck out of there. However, his medication seems to take that moment to wear off and it feels like someone just punched him in the gut. All the breath expels from his lungs in a split second and it takes everything in him not to double over right there.

“Whoa,” Phil says as he stands to help Tony sit again. “Relax. I think this was one of those situations where Clint stuck his foot in his mouth again. You were just supposed to ignore him when this happened again, remember?” 

It’s not a bad attempt to lighten the mood, but Tony’s just not with it enough to try to play along. 

“I’m sorry,” he reiterates. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done that with the prosthesis. I have a habit of making people uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, really, Tony. It’s clear that you didn’t mean to upset Bucky. He’s just been sensitive about it for a while, and he doesn’t like it to be pointed out. As long as you don’t do it again intentionally, and maybe apologize to him yourself, all is forgiven,” Phil says. “He’ll get over it. He’s a resilient one.”

Tony nods miserably. 

“Will you bring me upstairs now, please? I think I’d like to just go to bed.”

It’s messy, getting up the stairs. He has Phil on the left of him and Clint on the right, but the stairs aren’t quite wide enough to hold all of them comfortably, so they have to go up a little crookedly. It’s clear that the men are being as gentle as possible, but it’s still painful and slow going. They take him to the bathroom so he can brush his teeth and wash his face, and then they show him to his room. It’s pretty empty and the sheets and walls are bland white, but it’s more spacious than he’d anticipated. He’s just grateful that none of the other kids had come out of their rooms while he was traipsing around. He wouldn’t have wanted to deal with that with how exhausted he is. 

When Phil and Clint lay Tony down on his new bed, they get to work fluffing his pillows and making a comfortable mound for him to prop his injured leg up on. He usually hates to sleep flat on his back, preferring to lay on his sides, but that’s not an option right now. He still finds himself lulling to sleep with no qualms, Clint and Phil still fluttering around his room.

He swears he feels the press of dry lips to his forehead and gentle fingers brushing their way through his hair before he drifts off entirely, but it’s ~~probably~~ definitely just a dream.


End file.
